


one is for sorrow

by the_crownless_queen



Series: Sapphic September 2018 [4]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alcohol, F/F, Hurt/Comfort, Sapphic September, Sapphic September 2018
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-05
Updated: 2018-09-05
Packaged: 2019-07-07 09:31:59
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,356
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15905583
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/the_crownless_queen/pseuds/the_crownless_queen
Summary: Dead siblings and a bottle of Firewhisky. That's what Daphne and Millicent have in common. Somehow, though, it's enough.





	one is for sorrow

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Sapphic September Day 4: “Look, I might be evil but even I have standards.”  
> Find us on tumblr using #sapphicseptember or #sapphicseptember2018.

The alcohol burns going down. When Daphne exhales, small licks of fire escape her lips, orange and golden. They’re pretty, she supposes.

At least, that’s what she’d thought at the beginning of this experiment. Now she doesn’t care for the flames anymore, just for the warmth that seeps down to her bones when she drinks, just for the way her worries and sorrows cease to matter.

It’s a crutch, she knows, and a dangerous one, but she can’t stop.

She doesn’t have anything to stop for.

* * *

The letter had arrived on a Monday, carried by her family’s elegant eagle. She had loved that bird when she had started Hogwarts. Now, she only feels dread at his sight, because it means her family will ask something of her that she doesn’t know how to give. Again.

( _At least_ , she thinks in her more charitable moments, _at least Astoria got away from this while she could. At least I could protect her that much._ )

That day, the letter told her of her betrothal — Whilhelm Burke, twice her age and a terrible man by all account. But this is her duty, and she doesn’t have a choice, not really, so that very night, Daphne had taken her best quill to pen back her agreement.

And then she had drunk enough alcohol to feel like it didn’t matter.

* * *

Daphne’s favorite place to drink is an old abandoned room two corridors away from the Slytherin Common Room. Well, it's her only place to drink, really, but she likes to think that it means it’s her favorite.

It’s dusty, though, and some of the furniture is broken. It makes her wonder what, exactly, the House Elves are doing in the castle, but it also means that no one bothers with this room. It makes the dust worth it, she thinks, and it’s great to hide her bottles in.

But the room is always so silent that when it’s not, she hears it instantly.

It starts low, almost easy to ignore, but still, Daphne casts _Nox_ quickly, extinguishing her wand with a racing heart. She doesn’t know what’ll happen if one of the teachers finds her there. She may be a pureblood, but the Carrows are vicious enough that they might not care if they catch her breaking the rules.

_Especially_ since her sister had hardly been discrete in her effort to aid the rebellion, or whatever they’re calling themselves this week.

But the sounds grow closer anyway. They’re footsteps, heavy ones too, and oddly familiar besides that.

They stop in front of the door of her little heaven and Daphne holds her breath, her hands clenched tight around the cold neck of her bottle of Firewhisky.

The door opens with a low but continuous creak, and a bright light shines from a _Lumos_.

“I know you’re in here, Greengrass, there’s no point in hiding.”

It takes Daphne’s brain half a second to connect that voice to a name, but when she does, her heart skips a treacherous beat. She barely has the time to consider hiding anyway before the light shines on her, almost blinding her with its intensity.

Millicent shakes her head. “Wow, you’re looking even more pitiful than I thought you would, Greengrass. Congratulations.”

Daphne sneers back. “If this is what you came here to tell me, you’re welcome to turn back around and leave. _Please_.” She almost hisses the last part, smiling her widest grin. She’s been told it makes her look dangerous.

But to her surprise, Millicent only snorts in amusement. “Right. Look, Greengrass, I might be evil, but even I have standards. I’m not going to let you drown your sorrows or whatever all alone. Last thing your family needs right now is to lose another daughter.”

Daphne flinches, her alcohol sloshing all over her hand.

“ _Shut up_ ,” she hisses, cold and vicious. Her eyes burn. “ _Shut up, shut up, shut up!_ ”

It’s hard to see, but she thinks Millicent’s face softens a little. “It’s true,” she says, and though she doesn’t apologize, Daphne can still read it in her eyes. She _is_ sorry.

“Why are you here, Millicent?”

Millicent shrugs. With a flick of her wand, she sends off her light, and it starts hovering in the air in the middle of the room, pulsating slowly. She sits down right like it’s nothing, her body so close to Daphne’s that Daphne can feel its heat.

She swallows and tightens her hold on that bottle.

“Maybe I thought you might need some company, Greengrass,” Millicent finally replies, leaning back her head against the wall. Her dark hair falls like a curtain around her shoulders.

And Daphne would say something scathing back — she neither wants nor _needs_ help — but something in the tense line of Millicent’s mouth reminds her of an old rumor she heard years ago, well before they’d both started Hogwarts.

The Bulstrodes had a son, they said. A boy, younger than Millicent, who was revealed to be incapable of magic.

The rumors had never said what had happened to that boy, but Daphne can guess.

There’s really one thing their families do with squibs.

“Not going to ask me to go back to the dorms with you?” Daphne asks instead, half out of curiosity, half because she needs to say something. “It’s what, two am now?”

The silence had been fine when she’d been alone. Now, however, with Millicent around? It feels heavier. It presses down on her lungs, makes her hands shake.

"Is that really the time?" Millicent drawls, and despite herself, Daphne laughs. It’s short, cut off by strangled surprise, but it happened.

Because she doesn’t know how to deal with it, she takes another swig out of her bottle, breathing out licks of orange flames under Millicent’s judging eyes.

“Want to try?” Daphne almost leers as she offers the bottle — sweet Morgana, she’s become pitiful.

She’s so surprised when Millicent accepts that she doesn’t resist when the other girl pulls the bottle to herself.

“Nice,” Millicent says, small wisps of fire dancing around her lips. They make her eyes glow too, and before she knows what she’s doing, Daphne had leaned forward and pressed her lips against Millicent, tasting alcohol and fire and _life_.

She barely as the time to think that it’s a terrible idea because Millicent jerks away, cheeks burning red and eyes blown wide.

“What the heck, Greengrass? What are you playing at?”

Daphne just shrugs and attempts to drag the remnants of her dignity as she arches an eyebrow back at Millicent. “I should hope that would be obvious.” She leans forward again, but this time Millicent and read and scrambles away.

“Yeah, no, that’s not going to happen.”

Daphne frowns. Her mind feels sluggish. “Why?” she asks, a little petulant.

Millicent scowls. “Like I said to you earlier, Greengrass, I might be evil, but I still have standards. You’re drunk, there’s no way I’m doing this.”

Daphne hums. “It’s Daphne.”

“What?”

“My name.” Daphne rolls her eyes, and immediately regrets it for the headache that follows. “It’s Daphne. You can use it.” She sits up a little, straightening her back. “And I don’t think you’re evil.”

She tilts her head as Millicent’s words catch up with her. “Does this mean that you’d be okay with this —” she gestures between them “— if I was sober?”

Millicent freezes. “Why would you want to do ‘this’ if you were sober? You’re prettier than I am.”

Millicent’s right. Daphne _is_ prettier — Millicent’s build is stockier, and her hair always looks a little too flat — but… “What does this have to do with who’s prettier?” she asks, frowning. “You’re here, with me.” She shrugs and tries to smile, though from Millicent’s face she must not succeed. “Nobody else thought to come for me;”

“I —” Millicent blinks. On a whim, Daphne offers her the bottle again. This time, though, she refuses it, saying, “One of us has got to keep a clear head here.”

“More for me.” Daphne shrugs. And because it’s fun, she offers up a toast to the space between them. “To sobriety.”

Millicent laughs, but echoes it back.

“To sobriety.”


End file.
